Valor
by Bellicose Blue
Summary: Onward to glory they go. / Fifteen chapters, updated weekly.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** If you read _Bellona and Mars_ , this might be familiar. I read through it all, shuddered a little, and decided to rewrite it from scratch for my Reverse Gear Challenge on Caesar's Palace. _Valor_ will follow a similar plot to it, although it's a new story all its own.

This will be updated every Sunday, and I'm thinking there will be 15 chapters in all. It's every bit as un-betaed as the first, but I'm hoping it's an improvement!

* * *

Really, she's not sure what all the fuss is about. There's nothing even the slightest bit special about the top floor of the Training Center. Same stations, same gray uniforms, same reek of sweat and desperation. Even the other trainees don't look any different than the ones she'd just left behind.

Just by sweeping her eyes across the room, she can already tell exactly who everyone else is, even if she doesn't know their names yet. That girl over there with the spear is loud and incompetent and will make a big deal about anyone else doing better than her, which will happen a lot. The boy laughing beside her is only here because his parents need the money. And the boy currently walking over to her- well, she knows who he is already.

 _Cato._ She rolls the name over in her mind for a bit. What does she already know about him? A swordsman, for one, and apparently a very good one at that. He's got a reputation that even her previous level had heard about, and he hasn't even been chosen to volunteer yet. Still, it's probably only a matter of time. Pretty faces with the skills to back it up usually are. But what's he doing, coming over to her?

"You're new here." It isn't a question. "Who are you?"

She gives him her sweetest smile, the one that promises she wouldn't last a minute in the arena. "I'm Clove," she says, then makes a show of staring wide-eyed about the room. "Wow, everyone here is so good!"

Cato makes a very obvious effort not to roll his eyes. "Yeah, we're the best in the Center for a reason. Speaking of, why are you here?"

"Hmm?" She drags her eyes away from the scoreboards on the opposite wall. This has to be a mistake. She's seen better accuracy scores in the first level. She'll have fun here, that's for sure. "Oh, the trainers told me I should come up here, so here I am!"

Cato doesn't even try to stop himself from rolling his eyes this time. "Okay," he says very slowly. "But _why_ did they tell you to come up here?"

She shrugs, still smiling. "Guess they thought I could handle it."

She's not dumb, really. She knows why he's here, scoping her out. Every level has their own version of initiation, some way to prove that their newest members belong or maybe that they don't. But she'd bet anything in the world that the top level's initiation test will be much more than a few questions about her skills.

Cato's growing steadily more irritated, his hands curling into fists at his side, and she shifts her weight slightly in preparation for a fight. He might be huge, but she's fast, and she can tell by the look on his face that he's not expecting anything out of her. It's almost disappointing. Honestly, if the best trainee this year can't figure out that a girl bumped up three years ahead of everyone else is a threat, what's he going to do in the arena?

 _Die, probably._

"We have a bit of a tradition here, you see," Cato says, his voice bored but his eyes intent. "Every time someone new comes in, they get to show everyone else what they're best at. It brings us all closer together as a group."

Clove's not quite sure she believes that at all. There are eyes on her back and muted laughter in her ears as the trainees set down their weapons and start to form a circle around them at some unknown signal, jostling each other and sending her eager looks. "So, _Clove_ ," Cato continues as the others close in. "What would you like to show us?"

Her gaze lands on the archery station. It's not a hard decision. She's good enough with a bow that she won't be embarrassing herself in front of everyone, but she's not so good that she'll become a target.

Then Cato chuckles and adds in a stage whisper, "Unless you don't actually deserve to be here."

"Knives."

Cato doesn't reel in surprise at the way she spits the word out, but he does arch an eyebrow. "What was that, Clove?"

With the same ferocity as before, she repeats, "Knives. You asked me for my specialty, didn't you?"

He looks at her a moment longer, and she stands tall beneath his gaze, feeling like it's the first time he's actually noticed her. After a bit, he says, "Let's see it."

And she does.

There is nothing but silence in the room when her last knife has landed, not even quivering where it has sailed cleanly into the center of the human-shaped target, which makes a beep of protest as it stops its unpredictable motion and powers down. She straightens out of her throwing form, brushes her hands on her shirt, and turns around to the sound of one person clapping, then another, then another until the room is filled with applause. It's like they've never seen anything like her. _Well,_ she thinks, _they haven't._

The other trainees slowly filter back to their stations now that the excitement is over, and soon the air is loud with the clanging of steel. Only Cato is left, watching her. "Is something the matter?" she calls out to him, smiling sweetly again because now he can see through it.

He tilts his head to the side, and she catches a glimpse of a grin tugging unwillingly at his lips. "You're different than I expected," he says. "I'll show you around."

She bristles immediately at the suggestion that she'd need help- seriously, she's been training for how many years now? But she quickly calms herself down when she realizes that this isn't the usual offer. People like Cato who've had one foot in the arena ever since they were born don't scout out training partners. They don't need to. The Center coordinates everything, trying to find the most compatible pair for whatever show they'll put on in the Games that year, and someone like Cato will have been training exclusively with their partner for at least a year already. The fact that he's trying to recruit her could mean that she's better than his current partner even though she's young, or it could mean that his partner has already ditched him. Still, it isn't like this is a permanent arrangement. "Thank you," she says, relaxing into her gracious miner's daughter angle. "That'd be nice."

Cato's not half bad company. It's a welcome change from some of the boys back in the lower level, who liked to make comments about other people instead of training. They'd talked about Clove right up until she got picked to fight one of them and broke every single finger in his hand as he screamed and sobbed beneath her. Afterwards, the trainer had ruffled her hair and given her a cookie. Chocolate chip.

She can't remember if the boy ever came back to training or not. Maybe they decided he wasn't good enough to heal and made him explain to his parents why he would never be able to work any more and oh, by the way, he wouldn't be getting a stipend, either. But it doesn't really matter what happened to him. He never bothered her again.

They end up finishing the tour by the swords station, and Clove can't help but think Cato planned it that way to give himself a chance to show off. Judging by the way he grins, she's right. "Want to play?" he asks, nodding over at the rack.

"Sure."

He tosses her a sword and takes one for himself, swinging it easily in a move that's just showy enough for the Capitol. There's a light in his eyes that's a little too familiar. She's seen it often enough in her own mirror.

"You waiting for something?" he taunts. He moves more lightly now with the sword in his hand, bordering on graceful as he closes the gap between them.

She raises her blade to block his and finds that he didn't try to sabotage her with one that weighs almost as much as her. That's a bit more honest than she'd expected. Well, if he's going to be a good sport, she'll have to work even harder to bring him down. Nice people are dangerous ones.

She's sweating by the time Cato starts coaching her a couple of minutes into the fight, or maybe it's hours. Her arm is shaking beneath the weight of the sword as he points out tiny flaws in her stance that no one in the Capitol will ever notice. "See, when your balance is off like that, I can do this," he explains as his blade opens up a cut on her side. They're not supposed to draw blood during training, but it's not like it'll kill her. She's had worse injuries before.

But the sudden pain still makes her gasp, and that's enough of a distraction for him to catch her across the throat so that she freezes midlunge, lowering her own sword in defeat. "That was fun," she says.

Cato lets the sword drop to his side and steps back. He's barely even breathing hard. "Not bad," he says, looking amused. There's no question about who's better, that's for sure. "Most people don't last so long."

She shrugs, grabbing a rag and dabbing curiously at the wound on her side before deciding it'll heal fine on its own. "Most people aren't me."

"I can see that." There's a gleam in his eyes, but it vanishes before she can look twice.

She glances around the Center, the pain in her side long forgotten. "Seems we've got a bit of an audience."

He dismisses the dozens of eyes watching them with a shrug. "Anyway, it's almost time for lunch. Eat with me?"

One of the girls staring at them gives an audible gasp, and Clove flicks her a brief, bored look before answering, "Sure."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Already running behind on the updates, but I'm having fun with this!

* * *

One lunch turns into two, one fight turns into three, and somewhere along the way, they become training partners. Soon it becomes normal to spot each other when they're lifting weights and swap tips about their opponents and walk home side by side, hurling insults all the while. Sometimes she looks at him and thinks how strange it is that they get along so well, that they're so alike despite everything.

Other people seem to notice as well. She's gotten used to the constant stares, the way people talk behind their hands whenever she and Cato go to stations together. She got a few pointed comments from the other girls in the locker room during the first couple of days, but after beating up a few and threatening the rest, they've mostly left her alone.

Today, they're at the climbing wall. They're not evenly matched everywhere, but they are here: he's stronger, but she's lighter, and it's always a toss-up as to who reaches the top first.

This time, he slaps the buzzer at the top a split second before she can do the same. Clove scowls over him as he pumps a fist in victory. "Cheater," she calls. "You can't knock me over before we've even started!"

Cato easily scales his way back down and jumps the last couple of feet, then turns to laugh up at her. "It's called 'using your resources'. Try it sometime."

She leaps down and lands on top of him, using him to cushion her fall as she drives him to the ground. "Oh, you're right, it does work!" she says.

He shoves her off his chest and hisses out a sharp curse when the movement makes a popping sound that she can hear from where she's sitting. "You're crazy."

"Probably." She runs through a quick check of her body. He'd pass out laughing if it turned out that her non-Center-sanctioned attack ended up hurting herself. Fortunately, it seems like he's the only injured one. "Do you need to go to med?"

If glares were fire, she'd be burning. "You're not _that_ heavy. I'll be fine."

She shrugs. "If you say so. Well, since you're all right, wanna go to the ropes course?"

Cato props himself up on his elbows and grimaces, jaw set. "Let's go," he bites out through gritted teeth. "Just… help me up, okay?"

Clove grins and pushes herself to her feet, about ready to needle him for admitting weakness when a sudden pain makes her double over. Through a haze, she sees one of the trainers stalk over and hover above her. "If the two of you are quite done with being idiots, go to the med station and get checked out," he says. She could be wrong, but it looks like his lips twitch.

"Yes, sir," they both mutter, not even hesitating. When a trainer tells you to do something, you do it.

He nods once and leaves to correct another trainee's sloppy form, and she looks down at Cato. Her head hurts, but she smiles through it. "Race you there."

* * *

She beats him, although it's not much of a fair fight, given that he can barely move. Normally, injuries like theirs would be cause for dismissal from the Center, since they're expensive to treat, but they're the best in their class, so the doctors shake their heads, flood both of them with concoctions of Capitol-grade medicines, and restrict them to a few days of image training only. It's probably for the best.

"You want me to do _what?_ " she snaps within the first thirty seconds of her session.

Sitting across from her is Enobaria, one of the most famous Victors to ever call Two home and Clove's idol since the age of five. The woman is thinner in person than she was in the arena, more brittle, but she carries herself with the kind of unconscious pride that would make Clove back down any other time. "Just smile, Clove. It isn't terribly difficult." Her teeth flash golden as she demonstrates.

Clove thinks of the way Cato's ribs had snapped beneath her weight and summons up her biggest smile. Enobaria takes one look at her and crosses something off the notepad on the table before her. "Not 'sweet', then," she mumbles to herself. She looks back up at Clove. "Do that again."

Clove bites back the instinctive "why" that rises to her lips and instead forces another smile. Enobaria scribbles something else down. "There's a start. We can work with that." She sets her pen down and leans forward. "Tell me about yourself."

Clove gapes for a split second before shaking herself free. "Why does it matter who I am? You're just going to remake me, anyway."

"It's easier for you to play an angle that suits you. I could easily tell you to play the sweet little girl, but the audience can always tell when someone isn't being genuine. You don't have to be exactly who you are on camera, but you do have to be close enough to make it convincing."

 _That can't have been very hard for you,_ Clove thinks. Enobaria has every bit the air of quiet menace offscreen as she did in the arena.

"I'm waiting." Enobaria's nails tap on the table. One of the unspoken rules of the Center is that you can ask someone to explain the reasoning behind a demand, but then you have to follow through with it. Clove knows far better than to disobey.

"I…" She starts, fumbles, stops, and starts again. "I've been training at the Center since I was seven." Encouraged by Enobaria's neutral face, she continues. "I've wanted to be here for as long as I can remember. I always knew that- that I wanted to bring honor to my District, and I will, whatever it takes."

Enobaria doesn't react, except to say, "Tell me more."

So she does. She talks about the way she'd forged her mother's signature on the registration papers so that she could join on the very first day she was eligible, how she was top of her class in school before being enrolled full-time at the Center, how she stayed after training for hours on end to learn how to use her size to her advantage.

At the end of it, Enobaria leans back and sighs. "So far, you haven't told me anything that I didn't read in your file. I don't care about your history; we can easily make one up for you. Tell me about _you_. What's in it for you?"

 _I want to hurt people._ The thought is so immediate, so alien, that she's stunned into silence. They'll never let her volunteer if she admits that. They already think she's unstable; she's stolen and read her file before. She remembers seeing littered among the warnings phrases like "reckless", "overly arrogant", and, in the past couple of months, "codependent". She knows they'll never let the file of their future Victor read "sadistic".

But when it comes to thinking up a lie to say in its place, her mind draws a blank, and after an increasingly long silence, Enobaria tosses her pen aside with a clatter. "I see we won't be getting anywhere useful today. Perhaps you'll be better to work with tomorrow." She gestures sharply toward the door, and Clove quickly pushes back from the table and leaves, telling herself she isn't doing anything at all like fleeing.

* * *

"How'd it go?" Cato asks, cracking a smile when she slips into his room at the med station a few minutes later.

She pushes aside the machines connected to him and plops down on the edge of his bed. "Could've gone better."

"What's your angle? I got mine on the first try. Guess I'm just naturally talented."

Clove could seize on that and lead them into yet another round of bantering instead of giving him a straight answer, but she doesn't take the bait. "I don't exactly have one yet."

His grin slips. "What do you mean, you don't have an angle yet? Didn't you have image training today?"

She shrugs. "I guess."

"Well, what happened?" His smile is gone entirely, and he leans forward as far as he can with his various restraints.

Clove chews the inside of her cheek and tastes blood. "I might've refused to cooperate," she finally says in a quiet voice.

"Clove!"

"It wasn't my fault! She asked me weird questions. Why does it even matter why I want to win the Games, anyway?"

He slumps back against the bed. " _That's_ what tripped you up? Saying why you want to win the Games? That's not a hard question!"

"Then what did you say?"

Cato looks incredulous. "That I want to bring home a victory for Two for all that they've done for me. What else?"

She pauses. "You don't want the money or fame or anything?" She's always taken him as the kind of person to want one of those coveted houses in the Village, with all the prestige that entails. Like her father.

"Of course not! If I just wanted the money, I'd be a Peacekeeper. That's a lot safer, plus it's still respectable. But I would only be helping my family as a Peacekeeper. When I win the Games, I'll be helping _everyone_." He gestures to punctuate his words and then winces, dropping his arms back to his sides.

Clove makes a noncommittal noise. They didn't learn much about the other Districts in school, but she knows that theirs is one of the wealthiest. The people of Two can take care of themselves the same way they taught her to. Still, it's a better reason for wanting to volunteer than anything else she's come up with so far. "I have another image session with Enobaria tomorrow. I'm sure I can think of an answer by then."

"You'd better," Cato says, relaxing into a grin. "Or else they'd kick you out of the Center, and where would that leave me?"

"I'm sure you'd survive," she says dryly, trying to ignore the way her heart pounds at the thought of leaving the Center, the home of her worst memories and her best ones, too.

He shrugs as best he can. "Sure, but would _you?_ "


End file.
